Window shopping with the familiar stranger

Like a stranger
who shows you a little kindness,
the chess master of Täby strolls with you
amongst the mannen
in a tournament where every game
is one too many,
and the only name allowed
is Cartaphilus.

But as you walk
through the granite burg—
never sure
if the next cross street you turn onto
is a boulevard or a cul-de-sac,
yet feeling compelled to step forward,
even when in zugzwang
you realise you’ve missed
the difference between a shop window
and a mirror.


More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com

Same old same old

In a closed game I mostly play myself,
navigating through days with hoary household appliances—
which permits only nontactical positional manoeuvring—
just to keep up with a simple chore list.

And then comes the pressure of Zeitnot,
which makes mistakes more likely,
but in the end, does it really matter whether you win or lose?
After all, the dead are impervious to either fame or shame.


More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com